


fall upon your knees, sing: this is my body and soul

by orphan_account



Category: Political RPF, Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: F/M, Foot Fetish, Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 11:17:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6516295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why, pray tell, is The Donald running for president?</p>
            </blockquote>





	fall upon your knees, sing: this is my body and soul

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
>  
> 
> here we go

Powder and lipstick in the air. Her high heels off at the door, the height of the stilettos a threat. Her pantyhose folded in a neat knot on the vanity. Hotel room style, but it's a good hotel, with their kind of taste to it.  Bright bulbs on the vanity like she's an actress. A frame for her face. A halo.

“Melania,” he croaks.

Melania’s doing her nails, sat back on her chair to accommodate his bulk. Acetone scent in the air. The powder of the filed nail very softly falling in his hair. She doesn’t look down at him.

“I can’t _say_ that, Melania.”

“You will,” she says, cool, “and you won’t say anything else. Did I tell you to talk?”

He shakes his head. He grinds his knees into the plush carpet under the vanity. The draft in her spidery handwriting folded to his left. 

“It will go viral,” she says. Scrape scrape of the file. “They will talk about it on The Daily Show, and even Trevor Noah will manage to make it funny. John Oliver will make a hashtag about it. There will be Vine remixes, and Jimmy Fallon bits, and Amy Schumer will reference it for months, and the premieres of other nations will use it as an insult. The whole world laughing at you. What do you think of that?”

She gives him some time to think. His breath comes ragged. She kicks his legs open with his bare foot and, for the first time, turns her gaze down on him. He’s bright red, hot enough to scorch. She draws her big toe with its scarlet nail down his erection. He did her toes last night and she'd slapped him for getting some, a blood-drop, on the white carpet of the suite.

“That’s what I thought,” she says. She’s not smiling. She pulls her chair in, so he has to crowd back against the wall. Scent of nail polish. Her heel grinds down, and then her foot goes up. He leans in, sucks at her toes. 

That night, he gives a speech.


End file.
